Limbo Land

by

All alone in a great big house, the dusk starting to fall, the grey clouds heavy on the horizon, pregnant with the inevitable rain.

Dreary, cold, and clasped still in the bosom of winter the weather belies the light that still lingers nearly 9 o’clock at night.

I had no idea it was as late as it was, sitting curled up on the couch deep into a book.

I must have read about 200 pages today.

Not a normal occurrence in my every day life, a luxury, a taste that I am beginning to become more accustomed to.

Despite knowing that it will go back to being sips and snatches, quick drinks of words as I assimilate back into the states.

I find that I can slide back there quite quickly, messaging with a friend, skype’ing with another, texting from my Iphone, sending out little feelers into the Universe, the ethernet of possibility.

I feel a little caught between the here and the there as I consult the world clock on my phone–Paris, Cupertino, New York, and Sao Paulo.

“You should go to New York, you would eat that shit up after Paris,” he said to me today on the chat line.

I do feel a little New York is in me at times, no pun intended.

I sent a query out to an agent in New York today.  I send a lot of queries to agencies in New York, that is where the preponderance of them seem to be.

That and LA.

I have never had a LA vibe though.

Not quite my thing.

I am more NorCal than SoCal.

That was about as much as I did today, chatting with a friend, went for a couple of walks with the dog, ate a big juicy salad, drank a lot of tea, looked over some photographs–happy to report I asked a friend to help with backing up the photos.

I also did install Google drive to that extent, though I am uncertain whether or not I actually successfully transferred all my photos.

Something was happening, the fan on my computer went into protestation mode and I got nervous about continuing.

On the list of things to get when I get my feet back under me, a new laptop.

I may be just worrying for no reason, but it may be a wise investment before it goes kaput.

I also started a project today, just went and pulled a blog post from 2011 that I wrote about nannying at Burning Man and re-organized it a bit, tightened it a bit, and did some editing on it.  I am going to write-up a proposal for Chronicle Books.

I will also confer with a few folks about it, there are some photographs out there that I did not take that I want for the piece.

My friend suggested I start something new.

Something that is not what I have been working on for a while.

I like the thought and with that in mind I got the first piece situated.

I have a lot of material, it just needs organizing.

Like my life.

Jesus.

I have potential spouting out my ears, it feels like, but no solid direction, do I want a family, do I want to be a writer, do I want to make money, do I want career, do I want to own a home, if so where, ack.

I cannot figure it out.

“Use your words, ask for what you want,” he told me.

They get crammed up in my throat, these words, stuck like a tickle, fluttering high in my consciousness like an unruly jay squawking out harsh jabs of doubt.

Let’s have it all, shall we?

If wishes were horses and beggars did ride, where would I ride to?

After exploring San Francisco and Paris, right now I would hazard San Francisco.  I do not like admitting defeat, but I recall that surrender means to go over to the winning side.

I do not know that I want to return to France to live.

Honest injun.

This is hard.

I know I take me with me wherever I go and many a time I create my own issues in the taking, but it is a challenge living an expat life, even if you have money.

If you don’t let’s make it 10 times harder.

Now, I am not afraid of hard work, life can be a grind, but I choose to be polished by it rather than ground down.

Being in Paris is being ground down when I have found work that could sustain my frugal little life.  I wasn’t being polished, I was being worn apart, I wasn’t writing happily or much when I was working crazy ass hours babysitting trying to just pay rent and eat.

I am an artist.

And as such that does not work for me.

I have to be somewhere I can work, but not work myself down to the bone.

Having had space, both too much and not enough, here in France, I realize I need some structure, a job is good for that, and not too much free time, but enough.

I am dangerously close to veering off into figure it out land.

I feel that I have perhaps put myself in a corner when there is a door behind me opening up and out and I cannot see it as I did not achieve what I set out to achieve here, in France, living abroad, living in Paris.

I am not disparaging the experience.

I will not know how living here for six months has changed me until I have a little more perspective on it.  I know that the experiment was successful, even if I did not get the results I wanted.

What I want is generally not good for me.

Something wild and fragrant and delirious has been culminating in the crucible.

I know it.

I will continue to stir the pot to the best of my ability, not going crazy in these last few days either figuring it all out or berating myself for not having the answers.

The answers are none of my business anyway.

Whether in San Francisco.

Paris.

Or Chambourcy.

Oakland.

Or in my own head.

The last is the only truly dangerous place to live.

The rest is honey, unbridled and sweet with potential and pear blossom nectar.

Pear Orchard

Pear Orchard

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